


Bear and Dragon

by king_maron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Big divergence, Dark Harry Potter, Draco is sassy, Everyone is sassy, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Good Slytherins, Harry is sassy, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, Voldemort’s a dad, because my love language is verbal assault, dark side is good, i like fluff sorry, lots of fluff, main ship is straight for reasons mentioned in fic, no beta we die like Cedric Diggory (rip), no beta we die like men, will be more diverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_maron/pseuds/king_maron
Summary: It started as an unspoken, mutual agreement. The Malfoy’s needed an association to the Light to remain in the public’s good graces, and Ursa Potter needed the backing of a prominent, Pureblood family while in Slytherin house. If only the Malfoy heir wasn’t so insufferably endearing.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy - Relationship
Comments: 19
Kudos: 255





	1. the short, jumbled account of the train ride to hogwarts as told by the great Ursa Potter

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and salutations. the Among Us fic I posted did kinda well so it gave me the confidence to post this little drabble here. Also some of the tenses might be weird, this was originally 1st person pov but I changed it last minute 
> 
> disclaimer: this is a genderbent Harry, who is also in Slytherin, because I don’t feel comfortable enough yet in my writing to write about a gay man while not being gay nor a man, if that makes sense. No shade to those that do, just a personal choice. 
> 
> 2nd disclaimer: I’ve aged everyone up two years, so first years are thirteen, second years fourteen, etc. because even though I know everyone treats the characters as though they’re way older than they are and super mature, I still feel uncomfy writing something graphic like hand holding or premarital eye contact when they’re like twelve
> 
> 3rd disclaimer: I’m not British nor a 80s-90s kid, and looking up slang feels a little too close to using google translate to write a bilingual character. again, no shade, just a personal choice of mine since I’m still not confident in my writing
> 
> ok ok I’m done sorry

Ursa Potter, by no fault of her own, was horribly, irrevocably, and inextricably lost. Dappled light filtered in from the glass ceiling of King's Cross, and it struck her hand as it wound its way into her equally lit up curly mane of espresso hair, turned a rusty gold by the sunlight. She stood still among the bustling adults, half their size and seemingly with half their wit, unable to think of how to get to Platform 9¾. Panic ebbed in her chest, Hagrid abandoned her with no clue of where to go and that muggle officer denied the existence of the platform entirely. The whistles from surrounding trains sounded ceaselessly, and that annoyance combined with her crow’s antics served to put her in an even worse mood than the morning.

Ursa pushed her cart around Grand Central Station, and only slightly despised having to force around the infernal device that was almost as large as her. The urge to set it ablaze only increased for every several meters when a wheel squeaked. Muggles were giving Edgar, the crow, bewildered looks, and the feathered rat basked in the attention. He was a crow, and Ursa rather unwisely chose him over an owl. The owner said the bird had been there so long he was just going to get released, as it was an unnecessary cost to feed and house him, so the bird was cheaper than dirt. She felt immediate remorse over how cheap the corvid was, so a large sum of money was spent on a more luxurious, silver, ornate birdcage that had some charms to keep the bag of feathers comfortable. Edgar understood a surprising amount of English, and was able to mimic the words “yes” and “no”, so the chronic lonesomeness of the Dursley household was subsided mildly by the occasional sound of croaked affirmations.

Ursa nearly cried when she saw a white-blond flash of salvation. 

Draco and her met in Madame Malkin’s, both were trying for Slytherin and decided to accompany each other to get their wands. Ursa wasn’t dumb, she knew the history of the bigoted house, and knew that she was not on the side of privilege—that’s where Draco came in. He got perks from her reputation, and she had the silhouette of a wealthy, well-established pureblood to hide in. However, like a malignant tumor, Draco grew on her, and she him, and both soon realized the partnership wouldn’t be as taxing as the other dreaded.   
  


*

_Ursa pushed the door of Madam Malkin’s open, and smiled a little hearing the bell jingle upon her arrival. A short, old woman rushed to meet her at the door, the sunlight from the large windows warming the woman’s already kind features._

_“School robes, I take it?” She asked._

_“Yes, I’d like to browse for a while after, if that’s alright? I’m in need of a small closet purge,” Ursa smiled back at her, hoping she was allowed to shop and this wasn’t just a place to get fitted robes._

_“Oh that’s completely fine dear, but store bought items just have a sizing charm on them, I don’t tailor those.”_

_“That’s fine, thank you. So, school robes?”_

_“Yes, yes, follow me!”_

_Madam Malkin directed her to a raised platform, and she watched fascinated as multiple rolls of measuring tapes flew around her, twisting and rolling in calculated, flowing movements._

_“That’s simple wizardry, don’t look so shocked,” a rather patronizing voice said beside her. Ursa turned around, surprised that she missed the other person standing on the dias with her. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”_

_“That’s a stupid introduction, don’t look so proud of yourself,” Ursa scoffed, already fed up with this brat’s presence._

_“Well then, let me try again, I’m Draco Malfoy, pureblood, unlike yourself, obviously.”_

_“Ursa Potter, muggle-raised, was taught manners, unlike yourself.” Ursa mentally scolded herself, she should be trying to get in his good favor, he’s a pureblood and she’s not, his friendship would be valuable._

_“Your name won’t get you anywhere with me—“_

_“—thank Merlin—“_

_“—As Malfoys are still superior politically and financially, so I wouldn’t even think of trying to strong arm me with some hero title,” He sniffed and turned away._

_“But I have the reputation and the fame, why would I need you?” She asked, a little meanly._

_“I don’t need you either,” he remarked, casually._

_“That’s good, I don’t want you to need me.”_

_“Good.”_

_“Good.” We both turned and were silent for a couple of moments._

_“What house are you trying for?” He asked, suddenly._

_“Slytherin, you?” Ursa responded._

_“Slytherin as well, every Malfoy has been a Slytherin and so will I.”_

_“From what I’ve heard the Potters haven’t been Slytherin, but the idea of going into Gryffindor like them doesn’t excite me.”_

_“It’s the worst house, even Hufflepuff is better, at least their hard work motivation can lend itself to ambition.” Madam Malkin walked back in, her wand was waving in several patterns while she muttered, and swatches and scanes of fabric flew around. The two halted conversation for a couple minutes to let Madam Malkin do her work. It wasn’t very long, magic letting her cuts be exact and instantaneous, same with the stitches._

_“I have yet to get my wand, what about you?” Draco asked as they stepped down from the platform, and took the packages of robes from Madam Malkin’s hands._

_“I also have yet to get it, but I was going to shop for some clothes first,” Ursa replied, and ignored the small, frustrated voice whispering in her ear to go with him anyway._

_“Just grab a catalog on the counter, when you want to buy some tap it with that—“ He pointed at the ring Gringotts gave her, it proved her identity and could act as a method of payment at some shops— “And the stuff will be sent to you, now hurry up, I don’t have all day.”_

_Ursa rolled her eyes, seeming to have become the Malfoy boy’s new favorite possession. She snagged a magazine and thanked Madam Malkin before leaving with Draco all but dragging her by the wrist._

_“Are your parents in Diagon Alley?” She asked, just now realizing there was no one with him as he took charge of her schedule._

_“Yes, but they’re doing adult things like avoiding their only son,” he snorted, “They gave me money and let me shop by myself, I don’t need to be monitored. Besides, where’s your chaperone? Muggle raised and born students are supposed to have one.”_

_“I ditched Hagrid as soon as I could, he means well, but the man is insufferably nice and naive.”_

_“Your chaperone is that oaf? Yikes, no wonder you looked so lost and pathetic.”_

_“Did Dumbledore or McGonagall, or whoever is in charge of this, purposefully send the most narrow-minded staff member they could? ‘Dumbledore is a great man’, ‘Slytherin is a dark house’, and ‘You’ll be in Gryffindor just like yer mum and dad’, just_ constantly. _”_

_“It’s likely, my father says Dumbledore likes to be surrounded by worshippers, and I know the oaf’s infatuated with the man,” Draco rolled his eyes, and directed her to Ollivander’s. Draco got his wand after about twelve failed attempts, and Ursa got hers after nineteen. His was hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches, and reasonably springy. Ursa’s wand was yew and phoenix feather, nine inches, and springy. Mr. Ollivander was rather unsettled by the latter wand, but didn’t say anything other than he had made a remarkably similar wand, and its owner gave her the scar on her forehead. Truth be told Ursa didn’t care much about that, only really hearing that the wand was powerful and capable. Draco teased her for having the smaller wand, and she was tempted to test out just how powerful and capable the wand was. They bought their books together as well, maintaining conversation about hopes and expectations for Hogwarts, then Draco had to leave, but he gave Ursa his address to write letters to should she choose to, and she gave him hers._

*

“How lovely to see you, Ursa, you look slightly less beggard-like then when we last talked, congratulations on the minimal effort,” Draco started with a charming smile. He was given the filthiest look Ursa could manage, she spent a lot of galleons on robes more befitting of a wealthy witch, and even set up a subscription for a monthly delivery of vanity potions at the recommendation from his mother.

“Greetings and salutations to you too, you prissy peacock, I’d compliment your hair gel but I think the greasy look is a compliment to you enough,” Ursa retaliated, her sweet smile was ungenuine and venom dissipated from every pore of her words. 

“Har har, bitch. I’m assuming you’re too uneducated to get on the platform?” He asked.

“If I wasn’t, do you think I’d be standing here like a lost child? Just show me the way and gloat on the train, I know you’re dying to.”

“Alright then, come with me, my parents gave me directions since they’re busy and couldn’t make it.”

The two walked and commented on each other’s choice of school-preparation. Ursa admired his impressively sized falcon, casually mentioning it’s rather intimidating, and after a few seconds of Draco looking too physically pained to compliment Edgar, he remarked that his understanding of phonetics is commendable. They also discussed books, both having bought a surplus of texts relating to potions. He wants to be a Potions Master like his uncle, but from what Ursa has read, being a Healer sounds more to her tastes. 

“Alright, just sprint into that brick column, it’ll feel weird and every instinct is going to tell you to stop before you collide, but ignore it and go anyway,” Draco instructed, waving a hand in the direction of the aforementioned column. 

“If I crash, you’re getting an itching hex so far up your ass you’ll feel a tickle in your throat,” Ursa threatened, lining up her cart and assuring that Edgar is secure. 

“Merlin, fine, I’ll go first, would that make you happy?” He asked.

“Nothing makes me happy,” Ursa snapped back.

“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes. He jogged towards the pillar and she watched, transfixed, as the wall seemed to just… swallow him. The brickles rippled where his mass met the wall, and in seconds reversed to its original state, completely undisturbed. Now intrigued, Ursa ran after him. A moment of darkness led to the most brilliant sight after Diagon Alley. Harmless spells being cast colored the air, laughter of children and exasperated admonishments of adults joined the bellows of train engines. The train itself was beautiful, a bright, reflective scarlet red, and Ursa wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t a spell on the locomotive itself to make it shine.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Draco asked beside her, for once not sounding condescending, she’d even be so bold as to say he was equally as bewitched as she was. 

“I think ‘pretty’ is a gross understatement,” Ursa replied, and the two decided to move along. 

“Are these our peers? Merlin, even _you_ look better off, and you were raised by muggles,” Draco said to her as they dissected their future classmates, whispering commentary to each other if there was someone particularly eye-catching. Ursa gave him a withering look, she really had tried to dress as nicely as possible, a black turtleneck, a gray/black tartan skirt, some black tights, and a billowing, silk black robe with silver accents over top everything. She’s developed a love of dark clothing, sue her. Draco’s dressed in black slacks and a dark green blouse, with a similar robe to hers, and Ursa thought to herself that they complimented each other well. Even though what Draco said was slightly insulting, she couldn’t help but think there was the smallest of compliments within it.

“Shut up, you have it easy. Men’s clothes are pathetically simple,” Ursa rolled her eyes.

“They are simple to better contrast the handsome features of the wearer,” Draco said, smugly, and Ursa didn’t appreciate the implication of that statement.

“What contrast?” She asked, innocently. Draco's mouth twisted into a scowl, and she felt immense delight.

“Move your ass we’re getting on the train now,” Draco ignored her pointed, sweet smile. 

Draco found an empty compartment in the Slytherin section of the train, his father insisted they sit there. Ursa let Edgar roam free, having snuck the smaller crow in the train via large pocket with the command to be quiet. He perched on her knee and fell asleep while she read a book on hexes and jinxes. Draco sat across from her and reread his first year potions textbook, his feet propped up on the seat right beside Ursa, close enough she could use his left foot to prop up her book. For a solid twenty minutes it was quiet, Draco and Ursa giving each other the silence to read, when a knock sounded on the door. Ursa looked up to see a cute, honey-blond haired boy who was a tad on the heavier side with a red face in the doorway. Draco and her shared a look before looking back at the boy with raised eyebrows.

“I’m, uh, I’m so sorry, but there aren’t really any other compartments open,” he fumbled out.

“‘Aren’t really’?” Draco’s eyebrow seemed to raise a little higher. The boy sighed.

“I got kicked out and everywhere else is full.” 

“What’s your name?” Ursa asked, the answer deciding her next few words.

“Neville Longbottom,” he replied, and Draco nearly snorted before Ursa gave him a sharp look. A Longbottom sounds useful.

“You can sit here, so long as you keep quiet about the crow,” Ursa said conspiratorially, smiling as warmly as possible at Neville, and the satisfaction she got from seeing his anxiety melt and smile back was only a little bit cruel. He shuffled into the compartment and sat beside Ursa, and when Neville wasn’t looking she gave Draco another look, to which he shrugged and continued reading, understanding now what Ursa was doing.

“So, what house are you hoping for?” She asked Neville, not wanting to make the poor thing needlessly uncomfortable. 

“Uh, my grandmother wants me to go into Gryffindor,” Neville went a little pink with attention on him. Draco informed Ursa of Lady Augusta Longbottom’s personality when they briefly ran into her in Diagon Alley, and now Ursa felt a little pity for the boy.

“And where do you want to go?” She asked. 

“Anywhere but,” Neville blurted out, and immediately went pink again, embarrassed he said it out loud.

“I’m aiming for Slytherin, although Ravenclaw wouldn’t be bad, the other two houses are alright but don’t align well with my values,” Ursa said, “We never introduced ourselves, did we? I’m Ursa Potter, and the pretentious ponce with Elmer’s glue-all for hair is Draco Malfoy.”

“Thank you for a sterling introduction, gutter trash,” Draco didn’t even look up from his book, “I’m also aiming for Slytherin, all the Malfoys have been Slytherin and so will I.”

“Like, _the_ Ursa Potter?” Neville asked, shocked, “Not to be that person, but I ask because from what my grandmother has told me, our parents were really good friends and we share a birthday!” Neville’s smile was sunny, the crooked teeth honest and the chapped lips genuine. It was the most sincere smile Ursa thinks she’s ever received, and she decided then that she’s keeping Neville, whether Draco likes it or not. 

Neville and Ursa mostly talked throughout the train ride, Draco warming up to Neville relatively quickly after a while of sulking. Neville and Ursa shared a love of plants and herbology, and that provided an olive branch to Draco who got to geek out about how plants are used in potions. The three tried some beginner charms, Neville not liking the idea of practicing hexes already, and they ate some candy Ursa bought from the trolley. The evening halcyon haze casted in the compartment warmed Draco, Ursa, and Neville’s features, Neville’s expressive hand gestures talking almost as much as he was, and the golden sun spotlighted Draco’s easy, sightly grin. Ursa leaned back in her seat, letting the deep satisfaction saturate her bones until not a single muscle was tensed. 


	2. give my regards to the giant squid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this story was in first person originally but I’m going thru and changing it to first, so that’s why there’s probably a load of awkward tense errors

“Wow, my father said it was a beautiful estate, but I never expected this,” Draco said beside her. 

“It’s certainly impressive,” Ursa responded, her eyes struggling to comprehend that this was, in fact, a real place. It looked too fantastical. The full moon reflected off gentle, inky water, the other reflection being the gigantic castle glowing a soft, warm orange from candle light.

“I wonder what the greenhouses look like,” Neville said, on the other side of Ursa. She vocally agreed with him as a fellow Herbology nerd. Ursa enjoys gardening, Aunt Petunia’s backyard bed being her pride and joy, so therefore gardening mixed with magic _must_ be interesting. 

“You two are such dorks,” Draco sniffed. Ursa gave him a nasty look and he snorted, unaffected, but at least the exchange got Neville to smile a little, easing his nerves. Neville doesn’t like boats, the other two figured out.

For several minutes the three were quiet, appreciating the serenity of the peaceful, rocking boat under a crystal clear, star-filled night sky, Draco played with a loose strand of Ursa’s hair, only remarking once that she needed to tame her stubborn locks. Draco doesn’t concern himself with personal space, Ursa figured out.

“Not to interrupt this long awaited quiet time, but did either of you see something move in the water?” Draco asked after a while, his voice sounding nothing other than bored, but caused Neville’s anxiety to skyrocket.

“I don’t think so, no,” Ursa lied, “Though I haven’t been paying attention, admittedly.” Ursa had seen several unnatural ripples and bubbles, likely something from the deep curious about the boats and student’s chatter. However, Neville is looking rather green. 

Draco stood up on the boat causing it to wobble, Neville screeched, and Draco continued on. 

“We aren’t supposed to stand!” Neville was panicking, and he grabbed Ursa’s wrist tightly.

“Oh come off it, I’m just taking a peek over the side, I doubt my weight alone with tip th—“

“AH!”

“DRACO—!”

The first years all gathered back at the school once the boat ride over the lake finished, and as a group collectively ignored the three sopping wet members among them. Ursa, Draco, and Neville were thoroughly soaked and left a snail trail of water throughout the school to the Great Hall. 

“Alright Professor McGonagall, the kids are yours,” Hagrid announced, the group coming to a stop in front of a large set of doors. Luckily for them, the previously mentioned curious creature was the school’s Giant Squid, harmless by all accounts, and it wasted no time snatching the three shrieking children from the dark water and dumping them on the shore.

“Thank you, Hagrid. Now—“ she started, and she noticed the wide berth between three students and the rest of the class, then the darkened robes, and the damp, dripping hair. Something in her eyes died right then, and it looked like she aged ten years. 

“Good evening, Professor,” Draco greeted, smiling charmingly. Neville’s head was hung in shame, and Ursa rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, good evening,” She said and paused, ““Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room. The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school.” *(quoted from the _Sorcerer’s Stone_ )

Led by Professor McGonagall, the class, in single file line, walked through the opened doors of the Great Hall and through the aisle between the comically long tables. Ursa’s skin pricked with the almost physical touch of the student body’s gaze, the urge to hide increasing every step. One look at Draco said he was experiencing the same, but the two kept their shoulders set and chins high for Neville, who was faring far worse and reached the hyperventilating stage. 

“There’s my uncle, Severus,” Draco pointed out to the other two, partially as a distraction for Neville, and Ursa followed his line of sight to a rather sour looking man. His face was pinched in what she could only guess was a mixture of pure, unadulterated exasperation and frustration as he eyed the trio. Draco had expressed his idolization of the man many times, and she knew that he’s the reason he wants to be a Potions Master. They didn’t dwell on Snape’s clear disapproval much, as the sorting had begun, but Ursa mentally clocked out after “Abbot”.

“Longbottom, Neville,” McGonagall shouted after what felt like forever, and Ursa perked up finally hearing a name she cared about. Neville looked like he was on death row and marching in front of the firing squad. He sat down, and Ursa and Draco grimaced seeing how pale and clammy he looked. 

“Slytherin!” Was shouted after a minute or so, and Neville looked like he’d pass out from relief now that attention wasn’t on him anymore. The snake’s table applauded, shocked but not ungrateful for another pureblood, while the other three houses politely clapped. 

“Malfoy, Draco.” Ursa zoned back in to hear his sorting after once again clocking out. Draco practically strutted towards the stool, the world was his catwalk. He sat down in a single, fluid turn and swung one leg over the other, while he smiled down at the peasantry below. 

“Slytherin!” The Sorting Hat shouted before it even settled on Draco’s head.

The Slytherins started clapping again, just a little bit louder this time. He went and sat next to Neville, happy. 

“Potter, Ursa.” The hall began whispering. Ursa walked up to the dias with the stool and hat as gracefully as possible, trying to mimic Draco, and sat down with her shoulders squared. 

“Slytherin!”

The word lit a fuse at the Slytherin table, and in no time flat the explosives went off. The table inhabitants were practically screaming, and she heard two boys angrily shout “They got Potter!” from the other end of the hall. A malicious smirk took hold of Ursa’s lips, a sick form of pleasure came from disappointing so many people, and in such a splendid fashion. She took her seat between the two boys, and listened to Dumbledore’s speech before food appeared on the previously empty plates. Students helped themselves at Dumbledore’s behest, but Ursa only ate a little soup before turning to talk to her companions.

“Uh, hey Draco, who’s the creep beside your uncle?” Neville asked, and Ursa turned and noticed what must’ve disturbed Neville: the unrelenting stare of a professor in a turban, centered almost entirely on them and them only. 

“Hm, oh, I think that’s Professor Quirrell? I’ve heard some things about him from Uncle Sev: apparently the man’s an incompetent coward who stutters more than he teaches,” Draco shrugged. 

The three decided to ignore the professor, and now that that was out of the way, as well as their nervousness from earlier, the emotional vacuum left made room for crippling reality checks. The rest of the meal passed with nervous breakdowns and an intervention. Neville had a small crisis when it sunk in that he’s Slytherin, something his grandmother won’t be happy about in the least. While Ursa rubbed Neville’s shoulders, his head in his hands, Draco and her passed a piece of parchment back and forth discussing what things they can throw together for him by the time a howler might come in the morning. First years got escorted to their common room in the dungeons by the prefects, and the Slytherins obediently followed behind the intimidating upperclassmen. 

A long speech about house expectations soon followed, and Ursa was about ready to defect to Hufflepuff. Keep fighting in the common room, don’t curse other students, or at least don’t get caught, if you have issues go to Professor Snape and Professor Snape only, etc. They were shown a board that keeps track of tutors if you need one, Snape’s office hours, a note with the password when it changes, book recommendations, and spells that might come in handy. They were then directed to where the dorms were, separated by year and gender. While not warm or inviting, the Slytherin common room immediately felt like home to Ursa. 

The cold, teal light of Ursa’s dorm washed the room in a detached sense of wonder, reminding her of when she stood in front of the city aquariums the one time the Dursley’s brought her along. The lake cast rippling and warping shadows across the floor and bed, and Ursa sat down on the cold stone to look out the window, her lone, distorted shadow the only thing marring the empty room’s surface. She hummed a random tune while she watched fish swim past, their shadows briefly joined hers on the floor before vanishing. Something felt tight in her chest, and her stomach turned into a flock of blue jays. Nothing felt real yet. There is only a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers, all of them a dark oak wood with silver and green accents, and it’s the most Ursa could ever call her own. The same, small room every girl in Slytherin house has and her wand are the most personal things ever given to her. It felt like too much. Her stomach feels leadened now, the acidic taste of guilt lingering in her throat. 

The fish continued to swim in their lake, while Ursa made her own in the third room down the second hall on the right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was short, I apologize, it’s also 1:47am
> 
> also, I wanted to quickly say, that while I put Neville in Slytherin mostly to keep the three together, I thought it could make sense canonically: he’s ambitious and determined to prove himself better than his grandmother’s expectations and make a name for himself through his own effort
> 
> idk it made sense in my head


	3. loving yourself, a students guide: your self worth is based entirely on the DADA professor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to apologize in advance for Quirrell’s stutter, I debated writing it since speech impediments should be treated with more class then what I can offer, but I wanted to make the difference between Quirrell’s persona and Voldemort’s persona more clear.
> 
> also apologies for the standard, in your face, out of nowhere character description in the beginning of the chapter, it will definitely happen again

Ursa’s alarm blared like a wrecking ball smashing through a poorly put-together wall of plastic cups that was unconsciousness. She cast a _tempus_ to check the time, and decided to stay laying down for a while. _She should get up._

The ceiling was a plain, stone gray color, and Ursa soon became intimately familiar with it. There were no distinguishable thoughts in her head, other than an estranged sense of disappointment that sounded a little like Aunt Petunia. _Get up._ Not yet. _Do it_ . In a minute. _Typical._ She counted the spots in the ceiling’s texture. At one hundred seventy-three, she cast another tempus and violently cursed under her breath as she saw twenty-two minutes passed, leaving only half an hour to get ready. Probably more than needed, but Ursa wanted to be sure she was decent looking.

After a quick shower, Ursa stood in front of the mirror in the tiny bathroom attached to the room. She brushed her shock of puffy, curly black hair, and stuck some random product Lady Malfoy sent her on the ends of the strands, of which ended just past the chin. Her eyes were almond shaped, a dull, jewel green color, and the eyelashes framing them, longer and thicker thanks to potions, made those eyes stand out on her heartish-roundish shaped face. Other than the severe eyebags, her golden-brownish, densely freckled/spotted complexion looked pretty decent, also the work of potions. _Barely tolerable,_ Aunt Petunia would say. 

Beauty and perfection were two concepts strongly ingrained in Ursa’s personal morality that she yet had no understanding of in the least. Maybe she was attractive, maybe she wasn’t, but it didn’t stop Aunt Petunia from using her as a show pony in every local pageant as a way to earn extra cash. The only money spent on those pageants was the occasional dress, and Aunt usually just “borrowed” another girl's makeup when no one was paying enough attention. Ursa was kept on a strict diet and daily routine leading up to those pageants: she could have no acne, she had to be a certain weight, she couldn’t complain, and she had to have Aunt Petunia lecture her on the stakes of losing every night. 

Sometimes, if Ursa looked close enough, she could see every crown, ribbon, trophy, or sash she had won hanging on Petunia’s bedroom wall. 

Keeping a routine of maintaining that pageant appearance was familiar, and Ursa regretted realizing she was using it to attain some familiarity while at this new school. She quickly washed her face of everything but mascara, and forced herself out the door before she could reapply the twenty minutes worth of makeup she had on. Aunt Petunia wasn’t here. 

Ursa put on her school clothes: a puffy, white, silk blouse, a Slytherin green tie, a black skirt, and black tights along with some cute black flats, her robes, and her bag. Ursa ran down to the common room five minutes before breakfast, running a hand through her hair in slight distress, a fleeting moment of joy and amusement passed when she felt her already wild hair stick up and fluff worse than usual. She immediately flattened it again, horror-struck that she had the audacity to tempt perfection without a mirror nearby.

“Merlin, I thought _I_ took forever to get ready,” Draco whined, getting up from the sofa when he noticed Ursa arrive, “You look fine, don’t worry about it and make us wait.”

“You just got down here a minute ago,” Neville pointed out, also getting up.

“Piss off,” Draco hissed, rolling his eyes. 

“Aw, I think you’re very pretty Draco,” Ursa cooed, she enjoyed ruffling his feathers far too much.

“I’m gorgeous,” Draco scoffed, either not taking Ursa’s bait or not caring, and started off towards the door. Neville and her fell into step to catch up, and she ended up in the middle of the boys as they made their way to the Great Hall. Even next to two prepubescent boys, Ursa was small. She was a head shorter than the both of them, and her shoulders near half as wide. She should buy lifts for her shoes, or wear heels, she thought, then burn the flat shoes to feel better. The thought stopped when Draco grabbed her wrist to lead her towards their seats. 

They sat down and started to eat, but Ursa could only manage a small portion of whatever the house elves made for them. She got one slice of toast finished, though she had hoped for two, and the urge to set something ablaze returned whenever she caught sight of the offending piece of burnt bread. She wasn’t allowed breakfast at the Dursleys’, this should’ve been rewarding but her stomach wasn’t ready to eat at this hour yet.

Professor Snape curtly handed them schedules with no words shared, and the three eagerly looked at their classes.

“Wonderful!” Draco exclaimed from beside Ursa, and it didn’t escape her notice he was trying to subtly slide food onto her plate, not satisfied with whatever she’s already eaten.

“What?” Neville asked, on the opposite side of the table. Ursa glared at Draco for being a mother hen, and he glared back for Ursa eating like a newborn chick.

“We have potions with Gryffindor, Uncle Sev hates that house so it’ll be a fun class. For us, of course. Sev has and will make students cry,” Draco looked sadistically gleeful, and Ursa found herself smiling with him, even though guilt burned hotly in her stomach for being unable to eat the food Draco’s dumped on her.

“We have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor, too,” She pointed out, that was a class she was looking forward to. While currently Ursa’s goal was to be a healer, she’s fascinated by the ”Dark Arts”. 

“We have Charms and Herbology with Hufflepuff, History of Magic and Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, and then the Flying Lessons with Gryffindor again,” Neville said, “Why are we with Gryffindor more than the others?”

“Promoting house camaraderie, remember I mentioned Uncle Severus hates Gryffindor? Yeah, the rivalry between our houses has been going on _centuries_ , I don’t even think the two founders themselves got along,” Draco informed. Ursa banished the food the second Draco wasn’t paying attention.

“That’s impressive,” She noted, ignoring Draco’s confused look at her plate, and then the nasty look thrown at her. 

“It’s stupid,” Neville said. 

“It’s impressively stupid,” She corrected, grinning.

Classes, in an act of cruel, cosmic comedy, were magically monotonous. Once the acts of magic were removed, of which there weren’t many, classes were reduced to old people lecturing. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall were fine educators, it’s just the material that was drab in Ursa’s opinion.

History of Magic was a let down of let downs. When Ursa heard a ghost taught the class, she was excited like the rest of her class, stupidly thinking that they’ll have a first hand account of what history was like. Instead, they received oblin war after goblin war. Binns doesn’t even mention what war, it’s just a goblin war. Ursa pulled out a history textbook and started taking notes from that instead, while Draco and Neville followed suit. The three played games like hangman and tic-tac-toe in the margin of her notes’ parchment to pass the time. 

Potions was a mixed bag. On one hand, Ursa finally got her wish of having practical lessons instead of lectures, but Snape was about as pleasant as an itchy mosquito bite. Truly, she wondered how Draco’s parents, who seem quite lovely, could stand being around the man enough to trust their son’s well being with him should something happen to them. Ursa and Neville were the only two Slytherins he disliked, and Snape made it painfully obvious in the most passively malicious methods he could. Greengrass, Parkinson, and even Goyle got points for breathing right, but she was lucky if he managed to look her direction without appearing nauseous. 

DADA was… interesting, as the first day established. Everyone walked in, the three, led by Draco, sat in the front because Draco knew Ursa was excited for this class, and Neville was content to follow them wherever. Immediately Ursa knew this class would drain her, Professor Quirrell’s stuttering was comparable to someone’s heavy handed attempt at running their nails down a chalkboard: inconsistent, but sharp and disorienting when nail actually caught board. He seemed to almost… _forget_ he had a stutter sometimes. He started off stumbling and fumbling over consonants and vowels, but after Ursa asked a question on the purpose of the class, his voice was smooth, calculated, and surprisingly deeper-sounding. 

“Why is it called Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Ursa had asked. He introduced himself and the class, then decided he’d spend as much time as possible answering questions about the course, so she raised her hand immediately.

“W-well, what d-do-do you m-me-mean?” He’d asked, seeming curious while several other members of the class laughed.

“I’m a little confused, see, because I’ve read the textbook already and a couple similar texts, and all I’m seeing are a couple hexes and jinxes that I’d more likely prank a two year old with than defend myself, especially against the so-called ‘Dark Arts’, which by the way are never actually defined,” Ursa had squared her shoulders, sat straighter with the class’ attention on her, and maintained eye contact with Professor Quirrel. In the Dursely’s house, there wasn’t much to do other than read, so she read as much as she could with the mass amount of books she had bought with Draco.

“Y-you bring up an amazing point, actually,” the Professor has started, “Dark Arts are defined as any spell or ritual that are considered dark, i.e. requiring the user to be able to use dark magic to perform.” 

“What’s the difference between dark and light magic then? I can’t find a definitive distinction in textbooks,” Ursa asked, no longer raising her hand. 

“Dark magic feeds on emotion, the stronger the emotion the stronger the spell. The spells that often need the emotion-boost are used for violence, like curses, so the Ministry labeled them dark,” Professor Quirrell shrugged. The rest of the class no longer held Ursa’s interest, this conversation had her full focus. ( **A/N: please follow my bullshit, I did no research just go along with it)**

“So magic is dark if I want to hurt someone with it?” Draco joined, quick to back up Ursa and support her argument.

“In essence, yes.” 

“But, I could just as easily levitate someone more than six feet off the ground and cause serious injury,” Ursa pointed out. 

“And I could stab someone in the eye with a quill, but quills aren’t dark artifacts, are they?” Professor Quirrell seemed to agree with Ursa, and she took a weird, small amount of pride in that. “I believe what the Ministry uses to label the spell Dark is that you have to _want_ the intended outcome. You may not want to hurt someone with a levitation charm, but you certainly want to hurt someone with a bone-breaking curse.” 

“But maybe I don’t want to hurt someone with a wall of fire curse, maybe I’m trying to effectively clear some dense shrubbery, but it’s labeled dark, isn’t it?” Ursa challenged, “And the bone-breaking curse, what if someone’s arm healed wrong? One spell to break it and it’s easily reset and on the road to recovery.”

“That’s very true, it is labeled dark,” Professor Quirrell had smiled at Ursa then, like a farmer successfully having led a horse to water. “Humans are scared of things they don’t understand, and the Dark Arts are very obscure to the average witch or wizard.”

“It wouldn’t be obscure if they were studied, so why aren’t they studied?” Draco asked. 

“That’s what this class is for, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I thought this class was for the defense against, Professor?” Ursa asked.

“It would seem you’re correct.” 

“So how do we defend ourselves against something we don’t understand? If someone were to use a violent curse on me, would my only option be a tickling jinx?” She asked, and Draco nodded beside her, equally curious. 

“Miss Potter I think there was a criminal error in your sorting,” Professor Quirrell sighed, exasperated, but he was still smiling and he seemed genuinely pleased, “I do believe Ravenclaw’s house would benefit greatly from you.” 

“Thank you, Professor, but I quite like Slytherin.”

“Slytherin is where Death Eaters like you belong,” a boy in Gryffindor muttered, but the whole class likely heard. 

“W-What wa-was that M-Mr. Weasely?” Professor Quirrell asked, loudly.

“Only Death Eaters use dark spells, that’s what my parents told me,” the boy huffed. 

“An-Any witch or-or wizard co-could u-use dark s-sp-sp-spells, ke-keep that a-attitude an-and one m-might use a s-spell o-on you,” the professor said rather threateningly, and the boy simply turned pink, crossed his arms, and sunk into his chair, pouting a little. 

No one had mentioned his lack of stuttering, and for a while Ursa thought she imagined it. 

…

Ursa became a Dark Lord overnight and was enjoying it thoroughly. 

Apparently her interest in dark magic was communicated to the entire school in a matter of hours, and the general consensus agreed she was either a Death Eater in training, a sympathizer, or the next Dark Lord, and the latter was the more popular of the three. She couldn’t keep herself from cackling madly at random intervals of the day, just to spook other students. It was funny, at least Ursa thought it was, Neville disapproved and Draco all but bought a red carpet labeled “Dark Lord” for her to walk on. The red headed boy, Ronald Weasely, apparently took Professor Quirrell’s advice to mean that Ursa would personally curse him, and he’s started a campaign in Gryffindor against her.

“Ursa, could I borrow some of your extra ginger root?” Draco asked from his work station in the potions classroom, his partner Blaise Zabini and him were working diligently on a perfect potion. Ursa worked with Neville for this class, Snape was more likely to target her than Neville when they’re together, and even though Neville’s not aware of her true reasons for working with him, he appreciates the help anyway. 

“Who?” Ursa asked, stirring her potion counterclockwise, grinning madly.

“My Lord, can I borrow some ginger root before I’m tempted to dump lice in your pillow?” Draco’s smile was so pointed and exaggerated it was almost offensive how obviously sarcastic it was. 

“Yes, take what you need, your loyal service deserves reward,” She responded as warmly as possible, and handed him the container of roots.

“Ursa, I really don’t think you should call yourself that,” Neville spoke up, and she quickly fixed his hold on the knife before he continued, “I mean, look at poor Lavender Brown over there, you’re scaring the school to death.”

Ursa looked over, and lo and behold, the Gryffindor girl was staring shamelessly, her eyes widened when their gazes met. Ursa smiled and waved at her, and it had the intended effect of scaring her, but unfortunately it spooked her enough that when her partner Granger bumped her she jumped back into her bushy-haired partner and knocked all the contents from her hands. 

Oops.

Their cauldron started smoking, a hissing noise alerted the rest of the class that something wasn’t right, and Snape rushed to the back to banish the liquid before it could explode.

“Brown! Granger! Detention with me, tonight,” Snape snapped.

“But sir, Potter—,” Granger started.

“Potter! Detention as well. I want the three of you at that door by seven, now everyone—get out!” Snape yelled, and everyone scrambled to leave the classroom.

“Of course, Professor,” She smiled at Snape, wanting nothing more than to ignite a trail of oil leading to his greasy hair. 

At dinner, Neville and her were doing Herbology work while Draco read against Ursa’s side. He was livid. While Ursa didn’t care for Snape’s pettiness, she wasn’t that affected by it other than this one detention, so usually when class ended she got over it quickly. Until Snape permanently disfigured the skin behind her ears due to a rush to straighten her hair before a show, he had nothing on Petunia. Draco, however, has been stewing in an unrelenting resentment for his godfather’s behavior. He apparently thought the older man was better than that, and hoped that he would treat his friends better. She didn’t bother Draco, just occasionally bumped his shoulder with hers to remind him that they’re there. They had finished eating when Professor Quirrell approached us.

“M-Miss Po-Potter?”

“Good evening, sir,” She smiled, turning away from her work. Despite the stutter, Ursa really liked Professor Quirrell. His class was pretty tame but he didn’t have the same bias towards magic that other teachers had. 

“Y-You’re detention’s wi-with m-me now,” He announced, a warm smile on his face.

“Really?” Ursa asked, glad to not have to deal with Snape.

“Ye-Yes, when S-Snape men-men-mentioned the inc-in-incident, an-and the de-detentions, I off-offered to take-take over yours, sin-since he’s s-so busy I’m-I’m s-sure, s-should you wi-wish to have it w-with m-me,” He said, and she nearly cried from gratitude.

“I would like that very much, sir, Snape doesn’t particularly like me.”

“He also doesn’t particularly like personal hygiene, so don’t take his preferences to heart,” Professor Quirrell said very quietly, with a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Just come to the classroom at seven, bring any homework you need to finish and I’ll help you through it.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the conversation in DADA was *heavily* inspired by “The Rise of a Dark Lord” by Little.Miss.Xanda on fanfiction/.net, it’s an amazing story and got me into my specific Harry Potter tastes lol
> 
> funny story: I read this when I first started reading fanfiction, like this was the first thing I came across that looked interesting to me, and my feeble lizard brain didn’t understand that “maybe something more” in the summary meant like, romantic, so I read the story and got super invested, realized what was going on halfway thru, but had to finish it anyway and now I’m obsessed with the dark harry trope and harrymort ship because of it. check the story out if you can! (I’m not sure if it’s on ao3 or not)


	4. [insert funny troll joke]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personalities are all over the place, ngl. I want to make them seem like actual kids, ya know? and also show slytherins as more then just quiet, emotionless husks that get good jobs and are good at everything. I'm going to work more on establishing more concrete personalities with recurring habits, ticks, quirks, and tells that will make them into actual people.

If Ronald Weasley doesn’t die of natural causes by the end of the year, Ursa’s intuition says, on behalf of her frustration, that he’ll disappear under mysterious circumstances some time soon. He’s organized most of his house against her, and has gone to such lengths to vilify her that he’s tried to bait her into cursing him. 

“Up!” Ursa shouted, envisioning the broom leaping into her hand, and lo and behold, it eagerly rose to her welcoming grasp. Draco’s broom beside her also met his palm instantly. Neville’s broom, surprisingly, also jumped into his hand on his second try, which further added to the mystery of his lack of casting prowess. Ursa looked up from Neville’s broom, and noticed Weasley glaring, Granger beside him was yet attempting to get her broom to do more than dance on the grass. 

“Merlin, his persistence is creepy,” Ursa whispered to Draco, Ronald’s gaze made her uncomfortable and she stepped closer to Draco. 

“What’s the problem?” Draco looked up, returning to earth after zoning out, and then noticed Weasley’s staring, “Oh, there it is.” 

“I wish he’d cut it out, the staring is putting me on edge,” Ursa said, lowly. She was used to staring, she grew up on people staring at her and even now she couldn’t walk along Diagon Alley without some fixed gazes, but it was the unknown intent that unnerved Ursa. The staring she was used to calculated her appearance, and dislike of her appearance is shallow but otherwise unproblematic, it won’t result in anything more than a couple insults at best. But Weasley detested her entire being, and she only experienced that with the Dursley’s. 

“Weasley! I think it would strongly benefit you to pay attention to your broom, as you’re such an incompetent wizard that it’ll require your complete concentration,” Draco yelled out, and Ursa equally wanted to strangle him and hug him. The last thing she wanted was to provoke the Gryffindor. 

“Eat dung, Malfoy!” Weasley shouted back, his face turning an ugly maroon with their classmates’ attention on him. 

“This little crush you’ve developed on Ursa here is truly laughable, she’s above your infatuation,” Draco consoled, his voice switching to a tone of disappointment and fake politeness. Ursa snorted in a very unbecoming manner beside the blond, Draco effectively ruined Weasley by making his hatred seem like a schoolyard crush. She cackled while Draco looked, his ego inflating seeing his successful attempt to lighten her mood.

“Guys…” Neville moaned beside them, wishing for once the two would stop engaging with trouble or starting fights. His loyalty could have put him in Hufflepuff, but he questions the decision to align that trait with the two Slytherins next to him every day.

“I wouldn’t have a crush on a Death Eater,” Weasley insisted, his face twisting into a deep scowl. 

“Boys! That’s enough,” Madam Hooch hollered, “When I blow this whistle, you are to kick off the ground while straddling the broom. You will hover a couple inches, and then you will lower to the ground again, is that understood? Good, three, two—“

“U-Ursa!” Neville shrieked, latching onto her arm. He got nervous and kicked off too early, but he was too panicked to think straight and land again, so he kept rising and rising. 

“Neville, calm down, breathe, you’re completely fine, just breathe—“ Ursa started, only to be interrupted by Hooch yelling at Neville to land and stop messing around. 

“Ursa, help help help, oh Merlin—“ Neville tried leaning forward to grab her again but ended up launching himself through the air. He screamed and tried to pull back, which only gained him altitude, and Ursa rushed after him on foot, ignoring anything Hooch said after her. 

“Neville!” Ursa screamed when he fell off the broom, he got caught on a pole which lessened his fall slightly, but his robes tore and he fell the rest of the way to the ground.

Ursa fell to her knees beside him, cringing at the tearing sound of her tights, and pulled out her bone-like, yew wand, gently prodding the more obviously broken bones in his wrist. Neville groaned, and she apologized profusely, but immediately the spell did its work and the bruising lessened and the bones straightened. The same treatment went to scabs and cuts until Hooch caught up to the two students and had Ursa escort Neville to the Hospital Wing, Hooch’s admonishments joined Neville’s occasional whimper on the way to see Madam Pomfrey. 

… 

“Merlin, he’s stupid,” Weasley laughed, the laughter of many Gryffindors joining him after his two friends left, and Draco idly thought he’ll kill the both of them for abandoning him with such idiocy. 

“What was the mark on your last potions essay Weasley, hm?” Draco called out, inspecting his nails for dirt, “Because I can guarantee you that you don’t have a place to be commenting on anyone’s intelligence here.” 

“You only do well because you’re Snape’s favorites!” Another voice joined, and Draco couldn’t be bothered to see who it was. 

“And you’re McGonagall and Dumbledore’s favorite, my sincerest apologies for having one teacher who tries to give us points,” Draco said very insincerely. 

“That’s because Gryffindor is the best house, and Slytherin is full of dark wizards and death eaters,” Weasley tried again, “Of course Dumbledore wouldn’t like you.” 

“If you’re the representative of Gryffindor here then my opinion of the lions has sunk even lower, and I thought that would be impossible but you’re a fountain of discoveries Weasley,” Draco applauded, turning and deciding to talk to Zabini, as Weasley no longer interests him. 

“How is the Girl-Who-Lived friends with you? You’re deplorable,” Granger asked, astonished. 

“The Girl-Who-Lived has a name, Granger,” Draco threw over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at their moronic insult. It would only hurt if he actually viewed them as valuable to society. 

“Potter doesn’t deserve to have her name revered, she’s a slimy snake just like him,” Weasley said to Granger, and now Draco’s blood started rising in temperature. 

“Poor Weasley, I know it hurts getting rejected,” Draco continued, “It happens to the best, well I guess lowest, of us.” 

“I don’t have a crush on some dark witch bitch!” Weasley screamed, returning quickly back to that angry burgundy in the face. Now Draco’s blood started to boil. Glaring hotly, he drew his wand and spelled Weasley’s hair neon yellow. 

“Wow, that’s actually an improvement, what a shame,” Draco sighed morosely, but couldn’t contain a smirk seeing a vein throb in Weasley’s temple. 

“That’s it, Malfoy—!” Weasley charged, clenched fist raised. 

… 

Neville and Ursa headed back to the Great Hall to join the others for lunch. Neville was content with wearing a cast for a day, Ursa’s quick aid prevented him needing it for a week. The two walked into the Great Hall laughing, but Ursa immediately sobered seeing the state of Draco’s face.

“We left you for twenty minutes. Twenty. Minutes,” Ursa sighed and sat down beside him.

“You should see Weasley,” Draco grinned. Ursa took a peek at the Gryffindor table and saw Weasley sporting a split lip, a bruising eye, and his hair was a bright shade of yellow. She rolled her eyes.

“Good job, now hold still,” She said, and reached up with one hand to hold his face, and used the other to cast similar spells to the ones she used for Neville earlier. Draco’s eyelids fell shut as the purple marks faded to yellow, to pink, back to the flawless alabaster of his complexion. Ursa made sure both large bruises were gone, turning Draco’s face around in her hands a couple times, not wanting to deal with his pissy attitude about his ruined face when the joy of beating Weasley wore off. Draco’s head leaned into her hands, and she couldn’t help but snort. 

“What happened?” Neville asked, in utter disbelief. Ursa and Draco together are bad, and sometimes Neville feels the urge to apologize to the victims of their combined sharp tongues in private. Draco alone apparently had no impulse control. Ursa alone however is just weirdly passive and amicable, but Neville won’t complain. 

“Weasley kept running his mouth, and decided to resort to primitive measures after I spelled his hair yellow,” Draco shrugged, “Apparently McGonagall was watching the class from her classroom office, noticed Weasley’s hair change colors, and rushed down to separate us.” 

“That’s convenient,” Neville hummed.

“Yeah, and now we both have detention for two weeks,” Draco scoffed, starting to pick at his food, “At least we have them with different teachers, I think I’d kill myself before spending that much quality time with Weaselby.” 

“What started the fight?” Ursa asked, casually, seeing how pleased Draco was over his perceived victory made her want to continue the conversation.

“He called you a bitch,” Draco shrugged, starting to eat.

“That’s it?” Ursa asked. 

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’, doesn’t that sting?” Neville asked. 

“Uh, not really?” Ursa shrugged, starting to eat as well, “But thank you for so effectively defending my honor in my absence, your loyal service has been acknowledged.” 

“Thank you, my liege,” Draco said dramatically, making her cackle again, and every heave of her shoulders made his ego increase that much more, her cackling evolved into a mixture of laughter and snorting when he attempted to bow while seated at the table. For once, Draco doesn’t care if he looks stupid, or if Ursa looks stupid, he just likes hearing her warm, ugly laugh. 

…

Despite the grisly murder of her parents, Ursa loved Halloween, or Samhain as she’s come to recognize it. There was always a spooky themed Halloween pageant somewhere, and those were Ursa’s favorite costumes/dresses to wear. Today, however, she felt sick, but she couldn’t quite pin down _why_ she felt sick, or even _how_. It was like a dull pressure constricting her heart and lungs, exceedingly uncomfortable but not painful. Her limbs felt leadened, a metallic lump took residence in the pit of her stomach. She could feel anxiety marching in her blood, the minuscule spark of adrenaline making her constantly feel unnerved. She wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from, but it almost made her stay in bed all day. 

“You good? You look like shit,” Draco asked, once Ursa joined him in the common room, alone due to Neville oversleeping. She sat on one of the dark green, overstuffed couches with him, and he bumped his shoulder with hers. 

“Looking pretty handsome yourself,” She quipped back, upper lip raised in a scowl, “I’m not sure why, I just feel so on edge, enough that it’s making me feel both exhausted and hyper. It doesn’t make sense, but I want to be anywhere but here, or something will go wrong.”

“If you’d like me to, I’ll go to the Hospital Wing with you to get a pepper-up potion,” Draco reassured, starting to mess with the hem of Ursa’s robe sleeve. 

“Quiet down, Draco, if people hear you they’ll think you’re… a decent human being!” She dramatically gasped at the thought. She fixed a hair back into place for him, smoothing it down until it looked seamless in the gel abomination atop his head. 

“Actually, I think I know what’s going to go wrong, I’m going to mess up somehow hiding your cold, dead body,” Draco shot back. Ursa snorted, mildly distracted from her illness. Neville joined them then, the three walking to breakfast together while discussing a recent charms essay. 

“I heard we’re doing the levitation spell today,” Neville told them, his voice full of excitement to finally start some practical magic. 

“Really?” Draco asked, and he glared at Ursa’s empty table space where food should be. 

“I’m sure it’ll be easy, Professor Flitwick wouldn’t make our first practical lesson that difficult,” Ursa reasoned. The feeling of crippling dread left the second she exited the dungeons, but she didn’t want to tempt the illness again by eating. 

“Still, an excellent opportunity to show up Weasley, and that bookworm Granger,” Draco scoffed, tired of Weasley insisting that school grades don’t define his magical prowess, that he’s just a bad test taker, etc., and Granger’s holier than thou attitude to academics. Draco grabbed a second plate with some fruit and a bagel and put it in front of Ursa. Ursa once again banished it.

“Granger is just using her intelligence to prove she belongs at Hogwarts, it’s a mutual feeling for many muggleborn students and I don’t blame her for fixating on school work,” Ursa sighed, “While she’s annoying, lots of people are more annoying for worse reasons, I think it’s more sad than anything.” 

Ursa was correct, the levitation spell wasn’t too difficult to master. Draco was rather adept at the spell, his parents having let him practice simple charms at home before coming to Hogwarts, and Ursa had already tried it once or twice on the train. Susan Bones also mastered it quickly, and Ursa made a mental note to remember that. Neville, try as he might, just couldn’t get his feather to raise more a few inches on the desk. Ursa did her best to aid the boy, but couldn’t discern what was going wrong—his incantation was flawless, his wand movements identical to Professor Flitwick’s, and he knew how to use intention to power a spell. His magic responded to him easily if the broom in the flying lessons was anything to go by, so where was the disconnect?

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Potter, Ms. Bones, would you mind helping your surrounding classmates?” Professor Flitwick asked, Draco and Ursa shared a look of mutual disinterest and instead used the charm to toss an ink jar back and forth to each other, the one who let it drop first has to carry around the other’s school supplies. If Professor Flitwick had an issue with their antics, he didn’t express it. 

After class, Draco complained about how the school got rid of Samhain in favor of the more muggle friendly Halloween while the two walked to the Great Hall for the holiday dinner. Neville left to grab a book from his dorm and use the bathroom. Ursa would’ve gone with him to grab more ink from her trunk, but the thought of going to the castle dungeons made her want to vomit for some reason. 

“It’s culture erasure, Ursa, and I find it disgusting,” He scoffed as they sat down. 

“From someone with a muggle background, I understand why muggleborn students would prefer muggle holidays—if you don’t want to celebrate the holiday then don’t, just respect the wizard culture,” Ursa struggled to put her thoughts into words, and she feels like she didn’t quite hit the mark.

“See now, that’s fine, if you don’t want to celebrate then I think you’re weird but it’s whatever, but if you insist that it’s a muggle holiday when it’s been a wizard holiday for even longer and demand everyone celebrate that instead and follow your customs and deem the original customs and traditions ‘dark‘, _that’s_ when I think it goes too far,” Draco’s face was twisted into a scowl. 

“I agree, honestly I blame poor education, true if you wanted to learn you could buy a book about it, but if we have Muggle Studies offered why can’t we have Pureblood Studies or something similar offered? My theory is the Ministry wants the traditions to die,” Ursa offered, and took a bite of food now that it was Draco’s turn to talk.

“And what dominates the Ministry? The Light. More and more muggleborns work for the Ministry, and muggleborns are always light, which wouldn’t be bad, if it weren’t the fact that the brainchild we’re developing here is probably correct,” Draco rolled his eyes, “Hey, where the hell is Neville, I need to know his opinion on th—“

“TROLLS! IN THE DUNGEON!” Professor Quirrell screamed, shoving the Great Hall doors open with a surprising amount of force, barreling down the main aisle of the Great Hall and stopped in the center, “I thought you ought to know.” 

The second the professor’s unconscious body hit the floor, the student body’s anxiety hit the ceiling. Ursa reached for Draco’s hand and he didn’t hesitate to clench her fingers in his, and he looked about ready to scream along with the rest of the hall.

“ _SILENCE!”_ Dumbledore’s voice boomed, he stood up from his golden chair at the head of the staff table, and his face was grave, “Prefects, escort the students back to their dorms, please. No one panic, everything is under control. Teachers, if you would follow me,” He finished with a smile. 

“You’re shitting me,” Draco said beside her.

“He’s not serious is he?” Ursa asked. The Slytherin common rooms were _in the bloody dungeon_.

“He is,” Draco was white as the Bloody Baron floating overhead. The prefects were obviously just as confused as the students were, but Snape remained silent, so the prefects followed instructions. Just as Draco and Ursa exited into the hall, a horrific thought struck her. 

“Oh _Merlin,_ Draco, Neville’s in the bathroom,” she whispered, “He doesn’t know.” Her stomach sank to her feet, and her heart traveled into her throat, attempting to beat itself out of her mouth. 

“Once we reach the dungeons, we run, got it? The second the prefects aren’t looking we go grab him,” Draco whispered back, “We just need to get in, grab him, and get out, we don’t need to risk anything or be heroic, it’ll only be a couple minutes, no one will even notice.” It sounds like he was convincing himself more than anyone else. Ursa nodded, her small sense of loyalty refused to let her leave Neville, but her self preservation didn’t dare consider raising a wand to the troll, and Draco had a very similar mindset. 

“Got it.” Ursa’s guts were coiling and condensing in her torso, and she had half a mind to expel them via vomiting just to be rid of the feeling. The thought of the dungeons mixed with her fear for Neville’s safety stewed in her stomach, the volatile combination making stars appear in her peripheral but she refused to let herself faint in front of all these people. 

Several flights of mobile stairs later and the dungeons were reached, the two only went down one hallway before Draco grabbed Ursa’s hand, slowed them down so they fell a little behind, and darted off when it looked like no one was paying attention. They ran and ran through halls to the bathroom, and the pressure in Ursa’s head increased, the adrenaline being the only thing keeping her conscious. 

“Think he’s still around here?” Draco asked as they slowed down a second to breathe. Ursa was fine, but Draco was wheezing like one of Aunt Marge’s dogs. Ursa readied a reply, but before the words could leave her mouth they heard a sharp shriek. They didn’t hesitate to start running again. The corridor was a blur as they ran, and when the bathroom approached they looked at the busted doorframe in horror. They subtly slunk through a sizable gap in the shredded wooden door, and Draco shrieked as they ducked under the club of a troll before it shattered a stall. Dust from the marble was floating through the air, water was rushing from broken pipes, and there Neville was in the corner, hunched over and hiding under a broken off stall door. 

“We didn’t plan for this,” Ursa told Draco. 

“Holy shit we’re stupid shit shit shit SHIT!” The two screamed again, dodging a piece of flying rubble. They screamed loud enough to get the ugly abomination’s attention this time.

“DIFFINDO!” Ursa screamed, pointing her wand at the arm of the troll that’s about to swing its club. The spell gave the troll the equivalent of a paper cut. 

“DEFODIO!” She screamed again, getting more panicked now. She wasn’t sure that spell would work, it was meant to carve stone and steel, but it was the first backup her mind spit out while cowering in the corner of her head. It did more damage, miraculously, it took off the tip of a finger, but that just made the troll angrier. Ursa quickly realized that _defodio_ isn’t nearly enough to immobilize the pissed off tank that has decided to charge them. 

“R-Remember the ink bottle in charms?” Draco shouted, paralyzed with fear but forming a Hail Mary plan in his head. 

“Yeah!” Ursa shouted back, an inkling of what that plan Draco thought of soon realized.

“Run over there, quickly!” He shouted and Ursa started running towards the far corner of the bathroom, hoping she could get there before the giant, albeit slow as molasses, troll pushed its way through the obstacle course it caused and reached them. 

“LEVIOSA!” Ursa heard Draco scream, and turned around quick enough to see a large chunk of marble that might have resembled a sink not twenty minutes ago flying at her, “Launch it!”

“REDUCTO!” Ursa put as much power as she could into the spell, and tipped her wand slightly to the right. The chunk of marble collided with her reducto, and the explosion, aimed slightly to the right, propelled what was left of the chunk at the troll, nailing it in the temple. The troll stumbled, had it been a larger piece of ammunition it would’ve gone down, and Draco immediately picked up on that. 

“LEVIOSA!” 

“REDUCTO!”

_THUNK!_

_“_ LEVIOSA!

“REDUCTO!”

_THUNK!_

All it took was four more chunks of stone and marble and the troll was completely disoriented. One sizable piece had a sharp, broken-off, exposed pipe that did a significant amount of damage to the temple, managing to smash a small amount of the ugly creature’s skull in. If Ursa had to guess, it couldn’t see straight but was too stubborn to fall over, so she aimed her bone-white wand at the tiny, gorey hole in its head that her and Draco created and shouted, “EVISCERATE!” 

The troll fell, finally, the room shook when its carcass hit the tiles. Draco and her stepped closer, and she grimaced seeing the effect the _eviscerate_ had, without the tough skin to protect against the spell, it had the intended effect of destroying whatever it hit by essentially disemboweling it. The bone didn’t provide much protection, and the shattered skull fully exposed the jumbled, bloody mess that used to be the creature's brain. Ursa suddenly felt lighter, the image before her took a slimy weight sludging through her veins away and she nearly started skipping, if it weren’t for the yet lingering discomfort of being in the dungeons.

“Gross,” Draco sniffed, kicking the carcass a little with his toe, checking to make sure it won’t react.

“Gross,” Ursa agreed. 

“Help?” Neville asked, still under the stall door, apparently some rocks pinned a little bit of the door down and he was stuck. 

“Yeah yeah, we’re coming. Merlin, you’re needy, you know that?” Draco complained, stepping on the dead troll to reach Neville. Ursa stepped on the troll right after Draco did, and just before she could jump down from its back, there was a scream from the door. 

“Miss Potter! Mr. Malfoy! What do you think you’re doing?” Professor McGonagall looked like a heinous crime was committed in front of her. 

“Sorry,” Ursa apologized, insincerely, turning to face Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and Professor Quirrell, the latter looking very conscious, “Neville was in the bathroom when the troll announcement was made, we thought he ought to know.” 

“The troll, then?” Snape asked, sounding disinterested but the shock was clear in his widened eyes. 

“We killed it,” Draco piped in, his voice full of boyish glee and a smug smile on his face. 

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s dead-dead,” Ursa admitted, finally hopping off its back and inspecting the skull again. 

“Oh, Merlin,” McGonagall gasped when she followed Ursa’s line of sight. 

“That looks very dead to me, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore assured her with a smile, “So you came to fetch Mr. Longbottom?” 

“I got a little held up,” Neville announced, finally emerging from the rubble with Draco’s help, “Oh, gross.” 

“I know,” Draco and Ursa said simultaneously.

“What do we do, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“They broke the rules and separated from their classmates, actively hunted a troll, and ruined school property,” Snape complained, and Ursa’s opinion of him sank even lower. Ursa decided it was time to find out just how flammable his oily hair is.

“N-Now now, Severus. Fro-From what we’ve h-heard, they stumbled o-on this troll h-here and-and defended them-themselves,” Professor Quirrell challenged, and it was clear he and Snape were going to fight over this. Ursa thanked Merlin for Professor Quirrell.

“How did they ‘stumble’ on a troll? They defied the single order we gave them and thought they were powerful enough to bring the beast down, arrogance at its finest, typical for a Potter,” Snape scoffed.

“Yeah, but we did actually kill it, so—“

“Shut up, Draco!” Snape hissed, and Ursa could _feel_ the wrath burning under Draco’s skin. She reached over and grabbed his hand, and bit her tongue trying not to scream as he crushed her hand back in poorly contained fury. If sparks weren’t flying off Draco from his rage, she’d be surprised.

“My father will hear of this,” Draco whispered to the other first years.

“W-Well, I say twenty p-points from Sly-Slytherin for disobeying the rules,” Professor Quirrell started, “And tw-twenty points f-for bra-bravery and s-skill.”

“That sounds sufficient,” Dumbledore agreed. Thank Merlin for Professor Quirrell.

“Headmaster, you must be joking—“ 

“The students were aware of the danger and were able to overcome it with a Slytherin-like determination and had t cunning to think fast against a larger foe, that’s commendable, however, never do it again,” Dumbledore said with a tone of finality, and the trio nodded their heads. 

“Another five points to Slytherin for sheer, dumb luck,” McGonagall scoffed out before turning and leaving, followed by the other staff except Professor Quirrell. 

“M-Miss Pot-Potter, can-can I s-speak to you?” The Professor asked, and stepped into the hallway. Ursa shrugged at the boys, who shrugged back, and they parted ways.

“What’s wrong, professor?” Ursa asked, while Draco and Neville chattered to each other on their way to the dorms.

“Here,” Quirrell drew his wand and Ursa flinched harshly, “Sorry. Now, do you feel better?”

Ursa nodded, the pressure on her stomach, heart, and mind lifted, and the relief made her light headed and weightless. 

“I didn’t think that old fool would order Slytherins back to the dungeons. I apologize, kiddo,” Quirrell’s voice was soft and reassuring.

“Why did I feel so miserable?” Ursa asked, looking up at Professor Quirrell, quite content that he could answer any question she asked him. 

“I cast something similar to a repellant charm, the thought of staying in the dungeons would make you uncomfortable and convince you to stay away from them, hopefully to keep you out of danger,” Quirrell sighed, placing a hand on her head. 

“So you knew there would be trolls?” She asked.

“Of course, I’m the one that put them there,” Quirrell scoffed. 

“Oh,” Ursa was surprised, not because of the knowledge that her favorite professor let a troll in, but because she didn’t care all too much that her favorite professor let a troll in, “Can I ask why?”

“A diversion, that was the plan at least,” Quirrell sniffed, “Dumbledore has something hidden in the castle--that he shouldn’t have here in the first place--and I need it. I didn’t think he’d send students back to their common rooms, and while I may not be a very good person I wouldn’t dare let children be at risk of being some trolls’ meals.”

“Did Dumbledore know that you’re after this hidden thing?” Ursa asked, and the professor looked at her curiously. She has decided to ignore the fact he said he’s not a good person and any other disparaging assumption that could be made about him from this scenario, not letting the one adult she’s come to trust and rely on be viewed as anything but upstanding. He must have his reasons, anyway.

“He knows that someone is after it, I don’t believe he knows who.”

“Maybe he used the Slytherins as bait, intending on there being a scuffle and having a faculty member mysteriously missing.”

“That’s certainly an option,” Quirrell remarked, “But come, let’s get you back to your dorm so you can sleep, your magical signature is suffocating in here, so I assume you put quite the draining punch behind your spells.”

Quirrell walked her back to the Slytherin common room, telling her interesting scandals and gossip from his days walking these halls as a Slytherin, and she hung onto every word. When he left her, sure that she was safe and had no injuries from earlier, Ursa idly wondered if this, in its smallest fraction, was what having a real parent felt like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also im sorry to people who love ron and hermione, i love them too theyre just the easiest to bully here lmao


	5. merry chrysler? I hardly know her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of a filter chapter, just something to flesh out Ursa and Voldemort’s relationship, and try to establish the dad-ness of Voldemort
> 
> also don’t mind me projecting my habit of emotionally attaching myself to teachers into this story

The Yule holidays were soon approaching, and unlike her fellow peers, it seems as though Ursa will be confined to the castle for a couple weeks. She seems the only member of Slytherin cursed with the lack of responsibility or drive to return home, as all her classmates eagerly discussed their Yule plans with each other. She didn’t mind, though, while she enjoys the presence of Neville and Draco, and the budding companionship of Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Susan Bones, and Padma Patil, she wouldn’t mind the break to just read and wander around. It’s been awhile since she truly had time to herself, maybe this break will be good for her. 

“Is this even English?” Professor Quirrell asked rhetorically from beside her, the two grading papers together. Ursa got a detention from Snape again for being a distraction, in reality she was just asking Pansy and Blaise for clarification on the potion process, but once again the DADA professor took her detention off Snape’s hands and saved her from unimaginable torture and misery at the greasy man’s hands. 

“I think this person just dipped their owl’s talon in ink and dragged it across the parchment, I genuinely can’t read this scratch,” Ursa complained, squinting at the hieroglyphics in hopes that eventually some of it might turn into a closer approximation of the modern alphabet. 

“If you can’t read it just mark it with a zero, I can’t be bothered with those papers,” the professor waved his hand in dismissal, and then started squinting at the parchment in his own hands. 

“I think the student had the wrong assignment in mind, look at this,” He gestured, and Ursa leaned over and saw poor Gregory Goyle’s lackluster attempt at explaining the major distinctions between centaurs and fauns, when he should’ve been discussing the factors behind unicorn extinction. Ursa couldn’t help but chuckle at some of the unfortunate wording of his essay, joined by Professor Quirrell who also pointed out some other particularly humorous essays for her.

“Now you know why I don’t assign essays often,” he sighed, dropping the parchments in frustration and opening his desk. He pulled out a vial and swallowed its contents quickly. 

“Was that a calming drought?” Ursa asked. 

“Yes, I have a few I’ve stolen from Madam Pomfrey, they keep me from getting too irritated so I can finish grading the papers,” Professor Quirrell explained, “Want one?” 

“A little,” Ursa admitted. 

“Here,” Quirrell offered, and reached into his desk drawer again. Ursa looked closer this time, and forced herself not to gape at the wooden box absolutely filled to the brim with calming droughts. 

“Would you like another for later?” He asked, and Ursa turned back to him, shocked. 

“Why do you have so many?” Ursa asked.

“I’m a teacher, Ursa, but I’m not too fond of kids. I enjoy teaching and sharing knowledge, but not somehow keeping Mr. Finnigan from decimating my classroom with his adolescent pyrotechnics,” he deadpanned, and smiled hearing Ursa snort, “So, I usually keep a couple handy in case it’s been a rough day and I run into Severus.” 

The two continued grading for another couple hours, Ursa staying a little longer than needed to continue their scattered, low impact conversations. She’s taken to just hanging around the Professor whenever she can, and if he had an issue with her clinging to him like a lost puppy, he never mentioned it. 

Soon everyone left her, Draco and his family taking a vacation somewhere warm, Neville’s aunt insisted he be home to celebrate, Blaise’s mother and him were also traveling, Susan’s aunt was taking off work, and Padma and her sister were off seeing family. Ursa sighed, holed up in the library once again, with nothing better to do than read. She would be reading anyway with Draco and Neville, but now it’s different. She didn’t have Draco’s shoulder to rest her head on, and didn’t have Neville to bounce theories and hypotheticals off of. It was just a little too quiet now, and Ursa was shocked, finding herself not caring for it. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” an older man’s voice rang out, easily disrupting her already distracted thoughts. 

“Good morning, sir,” Ursa greeted Professor Quirrell as he nimbly maneuvered around chairs and tables to reach hers, tucked all the way in the back against a window. 

“Morning, thought I’d give you some reading recommendations, since reading seems to be all you’re doing,” He laughed, and Ursa visibly perked up at the thought, “Would it kill you to come down to the Great Hall to eat, at least?”

“What kind of recommendations?” She asked, rolling her eyes at him and ignoring the latter part of what he said. 

“The kind that if anyone asks you about them, you didn’t hear them from me,” He grinned and started pulling selections off the shelf, seeming to know where all the dusty tomes he needed are. 

“Oh, that’s my favorite kind.” 

She dutifully followed beside him, carrying books he pulled from the shelf and forcing herself not to sneeze when dust violated her nostrils. It was clear he’s the only one who knows these books exist, as the layer of grime built up had to be several decades old. 

“That should be all the important ones, if you find yourself particularly drawn to any of them let me know and I’ll help you find more, even if you need a slip into the restricted section,” He smiled warmly and Ursa beamed back.

“So, what kept you at Hogwarts over break?” He asked, sitting in a chair across from her and picking up a book from her stack.

“I didn’t really have anywhere to go,” Ursa shrugged, watching the nostalgia pull up at his lips as he absentmindedly flipped through the yellowed pages. 

“You have a family, yes? What are they like?”

“Not worth the effort to mention them by any favorable distinctions,” Ursa sniffed.

“That bad?” He asked, and she looked past the tip of her book to see the potentially content expression from a minute prior gone. 

“I understand,” Professor Quirrell finally sighed, the hollow eternity she waited for him to speak again blurred the words of her books and kept her focus captive. 

“You do?” 

“I’ll tell you a little about my childhood, then, since everyone and their mothers seem to think they know yours. My mother was a pure blood, who had a rather unrequited affair with a muggle she seduced with potions. He left and she had to give birth to me alone, but she didn’t survive the ordeal. I grew up in an orphanage where the children hated and feared me. I was lonely and ridiculed, avoided at all costs by the children who had any semblance of self preservation, and bullied by the children who didn’t. Those children didn’t last long, however, and eventually their bodies would be found mutilated somewhere on the property grounds,” the professor took a deep breath, “So, I’d say we’re able to understand each other.” 

“So what you’re saying is homicide is an option?” Ursa asked, and Professor Quirrell laughed. 

“Did none of your friends invite you to their homes for the break?”

“Draco offered and I nearly went with him, his parents are very friendly, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’d rather die than experience Augusta Longbottom’s caretaking, and frankly I just don’t know the others well enough to ask.” 

“I noticed you’re making friends outside your house.” 

“Susan Bones is exceptional at charms, and her aunt is the head of the DMLE. Padma Patil is very gifted in Transfiguration, as well as coming from a Pureblood family with strong connections within the trade industry. It would be stupid of me to let my house stop me from benefitting from those friendships.” 

“While I applaud you for thinking that far ahead, you can have friendships based purely on liking a person, you know.” 

“I know, I just find myself liking people who have the potential to network me into a position of power.” 

The warm, orange toned, morning sun filtered through the window and illuminated the free falling dust surrounding her, like specks of gold from a crown not yet formed. Her head was angled towards the book on the table and her elbow propped to support her head, looking the perfect student. Tom Riddle exhaled, and watched a younger version of himself gently turn the page, its significance to the library microscopic but the importance of the book to her, and every book on that stack he gave to her, made it priceless. He leaned back in his chair, and started reading his own book, careful not to let his shadow block the light she needed to read. Something about the scene felt sad, the naive resemblance of their personalities made his heart feel heavy. The library remained silent other than the occasional scratch of a quill, its user desperate to retain the knowledge given to her through these books, and by extension her favorite adult. The only words exchanged in this period was when it ended, the professor mentioned it was time to eat and she followed him to the Great Hall. 

…   
  


Slytherin house, like Ravenclaw, was a quiet house, the students’ used their time to study or plot more than converse. It was well regarded in Slytherin that too much expression could result in nasty consequences for the eager oversharer, so it wasn’t a surprise that the house was full of introverts who would hold close to a small group of trusted confidants and scorn the rest. Silence was expected because you couldn’t trust that someone with good ears and a generational grudge wasn’t near. Typically Ursa rather liked the gentle atmosphere, while it was every man for himself there was a unique, mutual pact between every Slytherin as the house of Hogwarts’ underdog that kept students from bickering, reluctant to dent the united front they had to present to other houses. Slytherin was not too dissimilar to a lazy cat, edging a glass towards the end of a table, but stopping before gravity could take hold in a silent reminder that while it has the power to knock the glass off, it won’t. 

However, it was now far too silent for Ursa’s taste. The soft _plat_ noise of her feet on the dead, stone floors reverberated off the ornate walls, no body to absorb the sound and no soft chatter to join its waves. Returning to her bedside she inspected the tall stack of wrapped boxes and decorated bags, all addressed to her wishing her well. She wasn’t expecting them, truthfully, and it’s taking time for her to work up the courage to open them. A part of her didn’t want to touch them, preserve them in the state she found them, but she knew her friends would kill her for not seeing what they got her, and she would feel worse not respecting the effort they put into finding something for her. 

The first on the stack was from Draco, whom she sent some silk, dark green-black, subtly iridescent robes she heard him sigh over not too long ago, as well as an enchanted ring fashioned to look like a dragon eating its tail. She is well aware of his love for dragons, and she thought the tail consumption was a fitting reminder for him, as sometimes him eating his own foot is more beneficial than him talking. Charms were put on it for protection from mild spells. He had gotten her a silver necklace with a crystal fashioned into it as well as matching earrings, a note in the parcel explained that it’s for protection, and the jewelry itself has countless charms and such within it. She put them on immediately. He had also sent her a magically preserved, rare flower encased in a glass orb, and she couldn’t stop from smiling when the sun’s rays struck the glass and refracted over the room in stunning, colorful specks. 

The next package was from Pansy, whom Ursa got the latest line of some expensive makeup brand, as well as some equally expensive chocolate frogs, Pansy’s favorites. Pansy had gotten her a book on vanity and daily life charms, as well as an enchanted hairbrush that would fix any hair knot. Ursa glared at the brush, wondering if Pansy was trying to tell her something. 

Neville’s package was a little larger, and that almost worried her. He got her an Aglaophotis for her dorm to help ward away illness, as well as a more advanced textbook on magical plant care. It seems they thought very similarly, because she got him two advanced books on magical plant care and a Rashovnik, an herb whose roots can open any door.

She got Blaise an old, official looking tome on magical creatures, since she heard him once mention he would like to study them when he got older, as well as candy and an obsidian colored wand holder that reminded her of him. He got her chocolate and the wizard equivalent to a gift card for a witch’s clothing store on Diagon, with a note apologizing for being bad at picking out gifts. 

Susan got her a cute owl stuffed animal, that looked remarkably similar to her own owl, and a large bag of candy. Ursa is going to have a cavity by sundown. She sent Susan a gold necklace adorned with yellow rhinestones, as well as matching drop earrings, and a flower brooch she thought the Hufflepuff would like. 

Padma got her some fictional novels, as well as a couple textbooks on defensive magic and healing arts. Ursa bought Padma a figurine of her favorite quidditch player, as well as some fancy butterfly hair clips that were spelled to stay still in your hair, so that you wouldn’t have to fix them throughout the day. 

It was the last gift Ursa wasn’t expecting. There were one too many presents by her trunk, and she’s not sure who else would send her anything. She delicately pulled apart the simple wrapping in a reversal of the process it was put on, and was almost surprised to see even more books. Ursa was suddenly very glad she bought an expansion for the section of her trunk that held books. 

‘In case those books in the library weren’t enough, but remember: you didn’t get these from me—Quirrell’ said the note attached, and Ursa gasped as she felt something electric buzz through her arm as her hand grasped a book. The feeling reminded her of thunderous weather on a dark, chilly day, watching lightning soar through the clouds from a tear-streaked window in an equally dark room. It didn’t feel warm, or bubbly, or any happy thing, but there was a terrible rightness that exuded from the leather-bound spines. She picked up the book and read the ancient, beaten cover, Darke Magick, and understood the need for Quirrell’s secrecy, and also understood the correctness she felt when her fingertips brushed stained paper. The other books, similarly old and decrepit, were of the same topic. Offensive and defensive dark magic, blood magic, curses that would definitely garner Azkaban time, and surprisingly a book on how to make poison from magical plants, Ursa smiled knowing he remembered her Herbology bias. Unlike the books in the library that are carefully worded to not provide any spells or rituals used by historically significant, morally ambiguous wizards, these books would fill in those blanks.

Speaking of Quirrell, she needed to thank him. She had sent him some expensive potions to help with frustration, headaches, and anger better than the calming droughts would, as well as a black, scaled wand holder she thought he’d like. She knew he was in Slytherin, and he’s mentioned he favors snakes in terms of tolerable animals, so she thought a wand holder fashioned after a snake would be appreciated. 

The DADA room’s door was open and she slipped in, the morning light from the side windows cast looming shadows on the opposite wall, and she ran down the center aisle towards the classroom office. She knocked the door delicately, unsure if the professor was even in there, and only waited a moment before the door opened itself. 

“Good morning, Ursa,” the professor greeted, and she quickly mirrored his gentle smile. 

“Good morning, Professor, I wanted to thank you for your gift.” 

“I’d like to thank you for yours as well,” he lifted his arm, letting gravity drag down his sleeve enough to show the wand holder she got him. 

Ursa spent the morning reading a book she took off a shelf in his office, comfortably splayed across the chair at his desk while he worked.   
  


… 

“How was your guys’ holiday?” Pansy asked, sporting a new, luxurious sweater and earrings. The group was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, their Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw friends joining them.

“Great! Aunt and I spent most the weeks together, as she got a lot of time off work,” Susan exclaimed, and Ursa’s heart swelled a little seeing her wearing the jewelry she sent her. 

“My grandmother wasn’t too horrible this year, I think she actually missed me,” Neville joked. 

“Boring, father had to leave early but otherwise it was uneventful,” Draco drawled, and Ursa spotted the ring on his finger as he waved his hand around. 

“Well, my mother and I had fun, she tried to cook something fancy but it went up in flames so the house elves had to fix it,” Blaise laughed. 

“That sounds awful, but you know what’s more awful? My twin,” Padma rolled her eyes, and Ursa caught the butterfly clips in her hair, “I swear, Gryffindor has switched her personality entirely.”

“I got a marriage proposal over break, ugh,” Pansy gagged, and Ursa laughed with her, “How was it here at the castle, Ursa?”

“Pretty quiet, Professor Quirrell kept me company and gave me books, so I wasn’t too bored,” Ursa shrugged. 

They all went back to their respective houses after dinner, and the five Slytherins hung out in the common room finishing up homework assignments. Ursa was reading against Draco, and Draco seemed to be taking a break from homework to play with her necklace, using the gem at the end as a means to fidget. 

“Thank you, by the way,” Ursa turned towards him, putting their noses an inch apart, “I really liked your gifts.”

“Good,” Draco sniffed, “And thank you, too.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t really say silver is my color—“

“Don’t even, I swear to Merlin,” Draco moaned and leaned his head back, and Ursa cackled, her contagious laughter startling the others who soon joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in anyone wants to join me on Twitter (king_maron_) I just got an account 👉👈


	6. if one scene reminds you of lord of the rings then no it didn’t <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, stress from the holidays made me forcibly throw myself into Pokémon to cope, and to give you an idea I clocked in 32 hours of gameplay in two days 
> 
> also I’m going to try and work on responding to comments better, I typically don’t because while I appreciate them more than anything (seriously I love seeing that you all enjoy my brainrot), idk it feels like I don’t deserve them so I struggle with replying 
> 
> anywhoo enjoy :)

Winter came and went as peacefully as it arrived, a slow silence led to the creeping singing of birds alerting the castle of the approaching spring season. The world was thawing, and glances towards the Whomping Willow resulted in the amusing sight of seeing the ancient, animated tree shake its gnarled limbs of snow and ice. 

“I hate this bloody season,” Draco whined beside her, sniffling occasionally, “This weather makes me sick.”

“Aw, here I thought you were just emotional,” Ursa taunted. Draco sent her a withering look that would’ve intimidated her if she cared. 

“You would know,” Draco sniffed, “Anyways, my parents invited you over for the summer if you’d care to join. They’re apparently very taken with you, and insist on you using one of our many spare guest rooms.” 

“Really? I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Ursa sighed. 

“I wrote to them that you would say that, awfully predictable you are, but they’re determined,” Draco drawled, his countenance screaming boredom but his quick eyes betraying anxiety. 

“Would you like me to stay for the summer?”

“I can’t say I’d rather you didn’t.” 

… 

With spring came final exams, and a depressed hush has fallen over many of the students, particularly the older years, in their effort to study. Ursa was no different, shutting herself off from several social opportunities in favor of textbooks and notes, determined to prove herself worthy of her top ten status. Class ranking, so far, is as follows: Hermione Granger in first, Ursa a close second, Blaise in third, Draco in fourth, Padma in fifth, Daphne Greengrass in sixth, Terry Boot in seventh, Susan Bones in eighth, Dean Thomas in nineth, and Neville in tenth. Ursa was determined to bury Granger and claim her top spot, and if that required seeing her friends a little less often, then it’s a worthy sacrifice to see the Gryffindor beneath her boot. 

It was a late May evening, or rather early morning, that Ursa awoke to an insistent knocking on her door, every rap of bone against wood directly equaling another degree her anger increased, and after redundantly rubbing the sleep from her face, opened the door to a positively ecstatic Draco. 

“What?” Ursa asked, not unharshly. 

“Come with me!” Draco hissed, his toothy grin awkward on his normally stony face and his body shaking with poorly restrained glee. Unlike what is heard of Gryffindor’s dorm rooms, other than the fact that Slytherins have individual rooms, any student is allowed to intrude on another student, with the room holder’s acceptance. Snape is only alarmed when the dorm’s owner doesn’t approve of the company. 

“...Why?” Ursa asked and yawned. She pulled an all-nighter the evening before and was eager to regain her lost hours. 

“Weasley and Granger are smuggling a dragon!” Was all Draco offered.

_ Blink. _

“...Alright. Give me a minute,” Ursa drawled, and shut her door to put on decent looking robes, not quite confident enough to traipse the castle in her nightgown yet. She debated makeup or doing up her hair, a voice picking and pulling at her brain matter, that sounded far too alike to Aunt Petunia, insisting she needs it, but decided that if her only company is Draco then the effort is wasted. 

“Come on, hurry!” Draco grabbed her hand the second she reopened her door and dragged her at an uncomfortable pace through the castle after hours. The moon was full and shining on the two as they sprinted through the stone hallways, the clicking of their heels joining Draco’s soft laughter that she’d be adamantly reluctant to admit raised her spirits. A soft feeling eroded her lungs, the chest cavity filling with cotton the more he looked back at her. Agonizingly aware of her own heartbeat, Ursa was unsure of its origin, her pulse running rampant without the other standard fear responses. Ursa couldn’t say she especially enjoyed the sensation.

“How did you find out about the dragon?” Ursa inquired, her voice uneven from exertion. Draco’s attention was like a late August evening in a calm field, the genuine sun just barely setting and a warm, gentle wind stirred the hair and brushed the grass, its lightweight fingers setting on her shoulders comfortably, invitingly. 

“Well, after Weaselby socked me at that last Quidditch match, I’ve been meaning to get him back. Imagine my surprise when from that book I took out falls an actual note far better than I could have dreamed of. From Charlie Weasley, a dragon handler, explaining how, when, and where to get a Norwegian Ridgeback out of the castle!” Draco’s eyes reflected pure, vengeful glee, and Ursa’s tongue tasted bitter in her mouth, her empathy enabling his mischief as well as the acknowledgement she wanted to see him smile. Granted, Ursa also really wanted to see Weasley and Granger in detention by her hand again. 

Weasley and Granger were indeed smuggling an illegally domesticated animal out of the castle, into the chronically burned but eager hands of Charlie Weasley’s fellow handler friends. It seems the groundskeeper’s knack for collecting the most frowned upon creatures dug the large man a hole too deep his giant hands couldn’t free him from, and he was forced to relinquish the scaly beastie. Why he thought the better course of action was to dump the distraught dragon in the hands of two equally distressed first years, Ursa could never fathom, but at least the elder Weasley’s company knew what they were doing. 

Unfortunately for Draco, he wasn’t of the same mind of Charlie Weasley when in the elements of dragons, and was not entirely sure of what he was doing. He—foolishly—believed that being the alerter of poor behavior excused himself of his own, albeit milder, poor behavior, and the poor behavior he accidentally pulled Ursa into. Professor McGonagall caught the two Slytherins wandering the castle far too late and assigned detentions on the spot, leaving Granger and Weasley to be discovered later by Filch. Forty points from Slytherin, and one hundred from Gryffindor, and detentions all around.

“Will your superior foresight never cease?” Ursa asked Draco facetiously on their slow walk back to the common room.

“Shut up.”

…    
  


“I’m sorry, we’re serving our detention  _ where?”  _ Draco nearly shrieked. Ursa didn’t blame him, for an area that’s so dubiously off limits to students, it’s rather an odd place to hold detention. 

“The Forbidden Forest!” Hagrid boasted, his jolly smile betraying his lack of concern over this very concerning choice of location, “Yer helpin’ me with somethin’.”

“Excuse me, but I’m not doing servant work in the forest—“ Draco started, and Ursa had half a mind to join him, if for nothing else then to shut him up.

“Yeh’ll do somthin’ useful or yeh get expelled,” Hagrid threatened, “Right, look ‘ere.” 

“Is that—” Granger started, predictably. 

“Unicorn blood,” Hagrid answered, pride in Granger’s intellect obvious, “Somethin’ out ‘ere is hunting ‘em, an’ I wanna see if we can track this injured one down, put ‘er outta ‘er misery if needed.”

“Sir, is there a chance we’ll find the creature behind these attacks, or rather, it’ll find us?” Ursa asked, calmly, and Granger and Weasley’s widened eyes told her they hadn’t considered that issue yet.

“Ah, nothin’ in this forest will bother yeh if yer with me or Fang—” Hagrid gestured at the mass of slobber and wrinkles he refers to as a dog.

“—Very reassuring—” Ursa rolled her eyes. 

“—An’ yeh’ll be fine if yeh stay on path,” Hagrid ignored Ursa’s comment, “We’ll split inter two groups—”

“—I want Ursa and Fang,” Draco interrupted, eyeing the dog’s larger stature and impressive canines.

“Uh, alright, but ‘e’s an awful coward,” Hagrid sighed, either in exasperation from doubled interruptions or disappointment in Fang’s lack of spine, “Ron, Hermione, an’ I will go one way, Draco, Ursa, an’ Fang go the other. If yeh got issues, send up red sparks—practice now, there yeh go. Find the unicorn, send green sparks.”

Ursa looked over to Draco, and her anxiety was smoothed minimally seeing her fear and frustration reflected back from the blond, if hope was unattainable in this scenario at least there was solidarity. 

“Yeh ready? Let’s go.”

The trio walked slowly and carefully, minding the forest’s gnarled terrain and the far away animal jargon that fear distorted into the howling of werewolves or foot falls of hungry predators. The gloomy, dusky blue haze of the forest made the disconnect between reality worse in Ursa’s head, her mind unsatisfied with Fang’s presence. The moon broke through gaps in the canopy, its pale rays striking the ground and occasionally illuminating the silvery blood stains littering the dirt and leaves of the forest floor, the light only interrupted by a small patch of fog, dispersing the scattered rays into the vague shape of a grounded cloud. 

“Father is going to hear about this,” Draco whined behind her. Hilariously, Draco was far more affected by rumors of the Forbidden Forest’s inhabitants than she, and every snap of the innocent twig sent him flying against her back, grasping her robes. 

“‘Father is going to hear about this’—grow up,” Ursa sniffed, but not before mockingly mimicking Draco’s voice, not in the mood for his immaturity, especially when it was his actions that landed her in the situation causing her this detestable mood.

“Oh, and you’re alright with this?” Draco hissed to her, “Happy to skip in the Forbidden Forest when a unicorn killer is loose?”

“I hope it hears your whining,” Ursa snarled back. 

“At least then it’ll feel like someone’s listening,” Draco glared, and turned away from her. Ursa rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe if I listened to you less I wouldn’t be here,” Ursa threw him a look from the corner of her eye, “I can only imagine the wonders it would do to my IQ.” 

“Aw, you act like you actually hear anything I say to you,” Draco’s tone was obnoxiously patronizing, and Ursa immediately loathed the sound of it directed towards her, “Merlin, you’re no better than my parents.”

“Oh no, I hear everything you say to me, I just don’t care most the time,” Ursa quipped, recognizing the sliver of honest hurting in that last slip, but not compassionate enough in the moment to bother coddling him for it. 

“And you wonder why people dislike you,” Draco scoffed, “You know, it’s easier to get friends when you’re not miserable to deal with.”

“And why would I need them when I have  _ you _ ,” Ursa smiled sickeningly sweet. Draco, borderline offended by this point, finally shifted and met her eyes again, of which hosted an acidic stare. 

“Aw, aren’t you a delight tonight,” Draco’s smile matched hers. Chronic exhaustion, emotionally and physically, was taking a toll on the Potter teen, and she suddenly didn’t feel up to maintaining banter with him. 

“I’m always a delight,” Ursa conceded, tired. Draco looked to her sharply, searching her face for any real emotional wounds, curious about her verbal surrender. 

“We have different definitions of delight, then,” Draco grinned back, tone far lighter. Something metallic settled in his chest at the notion of truly offending her, and the subtle change of her vibe threw him off kilter and temporarily distressed him. 

“The unicorn is likely dead by now, I don’t see the point of us being out here,” Ursa callously complained now, brazenly kicking around some obstructing leaf litter, “Especially unsupervised, sorry Fang.” 

“I would prefer a detention with Filch over this ill-planned, harebrained, positively moronic—AH!” 

“It’s a bloody  _ stick _ , you pansy!” Ursa snapped, feeling the boy rush against her again, his wand readied in one hand the other fisting the robes of her side, forehead placed atop her untamed mane of curly coffee hair, glowing navy under the moonlight. Draco relaxed, his shoulders slouching minimally and he took the moment to breathe, trusting Ursa’s eyes to look out for both of them. She was ready to continue, annoyed by his antics, when Fang started barking. 

Slowly, Ursa started turning her head in the direction of the dog’s incessant shrieking, face draining of color with every degree left it traveled. Fang the cowardly dog was barking and standing his ground, which should have reassured Ursa. Hagrid’s words meandered to the forefront of her mind: Fang is an awful coward, and now Ursa’s mind swam in fog and dread, wondering what inspired the dog’s newfound bravery. Following Fang’s line of sight, coincidentally as well the thickening trail of mercury blood they were naively tracking, Ursa saw a hooded figure illuminated by a particularly impressive ray of moonlight, the harsh light sharply contrasted its dark robes, as it rose to stand above the grisly unicorn carcass. It’s lifeless, slender legs were twisted at odd angles, and it’s pearlescent mane was dirtied by the leaves. 

“Draco, send the sparks,” Ursa whispered, her throat starting to constrict.

“Which color?” He mumbled against her skull, shaking, and refusing to look up. Draco couldn’t help but quickly consider their untimely demise, easily catching onto Fang and Ursa’s urgency.

“Either of them!” Ursa bit out, her eyes trained on the dark silhouette rising to its full height. Noticing a slow, steady stream of blood trickling down the silhouette’s fingers, Ursa felt her stomach plummet to her toes, her heart viciously throwing itself against her ribcage, feeling as though the next violent beat might knock the cartilage loose. The atmosphere of the forest grew heavy, the pressure wearing on her shoulders and the air reeked of ozone and anticipation. 

Draco was petrified, his face rising to understand the level of danger Ursa’s tone conveyed and burning red against the blue painted forest in deadly mortification, shame worming deep in his traitor stomach and turncoat bones. He sent a third wave of red sparks high into the air, timidly rugged at Ursa’s robes to ignite her self preservation and run, and internally screamed for Hagrid to move any bloody faster, questioning Merlin why they had to hike opposite directions. 

The figure sharply turned towards them, and the two screamed. 

Draco grabbed Ursa’s hand and bolted back the way they came, with her instinctively casting a blood-boiling curse behind her before taking the lead running. Her mind went into overdrive, panicked green eyes scanning the forest for the quickest possible exits, paths with the least resistance, and what route would be easier for two thirteen year olds to manage than this tall, cloaked creature. 

Draco methodically reapplied a shield charm behind them as they darted under low hanging brush and leapt over felled logs, and Ursa occasionally turned to their pursuer to throw a nasty curse over her shoulders. The two screamed again when a  _ reducto  _ made the ground in front of them explode, and Draco nearly dislocated Ursa’s shoulder from its socket with his sharp turn right to avoid the forest’s debris. They continued again, Ursa dragging Draco by the hand out of the way of pervading roots and the occasional flashy spell disintegrating a tree. Ursa noted the fact that no spell was aimed directly at them, but rather obstacles in their path. 

“Get down!” Ursa hissed to Draco, pulling him around the trunk of a thick-stumped tree, charging over a dip in the earth with only minuscule damage to ankles, and dove underneath the lip of the embankment and hid under the half dirt roof and amongst the tree’s plentiful but pliant roots. Ursa leaned over Draco, cast disillusionment charms and sound muffling charms, and pressed her forehead to his collarbone while muttering desperate barter options to the universe should they live. 

They heard the disruption of leaves, and the distinct, drawn out fluttering of robes over the ground slow to a still nearby. Both held their breath as the figure’s presence was easily felt directly above them, potentially even pressed towards the ground in search. Ursa was busy wrangling her own lungs into cooperation, but still managed attempts to help Draco reconfigure his own until some semblance of function returned. While Ursa did her best to charm away their existence, she kept the spells mild so the figure, who is obviously a fellow wizard, wouldn’t immediately sense the localized, static outpour of magic under the tree roots. In other words, they still had to remain as still and quiet as possible. 

Time became rather sluggish, the figure taking awhile to leave unsatisfied. Ursa pulled Draco back when he shifted to leave, and they waited awhile more until the stranger’s cloak and foot falls had long since faded into the distance. The two dragged each other out from the mess of malleable roots, and climbed back over the lip of the concave dirt wall, like a great wave of water made entirely out of mud that’s peak only rose to four feet. Ursa groaned a little when she applied pressure to her left shoulder, and she noticed Draco wince when he went to lean on his right foot. They seized up again hearing thunderous stomping again, only to relax again at the sight of Hagrid and the Gryffindors. 

“What happened to yeh?” The giant man asked. 

“The thing killing unicorns found us,” Ursa grunted, finally hauling herself over the embankment and rising to her feet with the aid of Draco’s outstretched hand. 

“What was it?” Granger asked, and Ursa sneered seeing her and Weasley’s disinterested eyes roam over her. Not even an “Are you guys ok?” Arguably, she’d sneer at their pity as well, overall their attention in general was making her mad.

“A wizard,” Draco responded, looking down on the other three, similarly minded to Ursa.

“Where’s Fang?” Hagrid asked. Of course, he asks about the dog, but not his students, Ursa thought darkly. She was saved from a response by a whining in some nearby bush, apparently the slobbery mess followed her and Draco, and reappeared by shaking itself of any leaves and thistles. 

“We’re fine, by the way,” Draco drawled, “Aren’t we, Ursa?” 

“Peachy,” Ursa drawled back, busy spelling away any dirt or grime in her robes, as well taking the liberty to fix Draco’s, “Unicorn is dead, though.” 

“Well then, I don’t see a reason to keep yeh lot out ‘ere then,” Hagrid sighed, the clear disappointment in his voice soothed Ursa’s lingering anger, replacing it not with pity but with dark satisfaction. 

The four returned to the castle, very early in the morning, and were comforted that several hours of sleep were still attainable at this hour. The two Slytherins retreated into the gloomy depths of the dungeons, and the sight that greeted them in the common room made them pause. Neville, Pansy, and Blaise attempted to stay up on their behalf, but Morpheus didn’t need to wait long to claim them. Draco and Ursa’s eyes met, and the two silently agreed to join them on the couches, layering their robes to use as a blanket, and fell asleep instantly among their friends using each other as a pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I’ve been obsessed with ArtBreeder, and made my vision of these characters in it, so if y’all wanna see that in the next chapter I’ll include some that the bottom of the chapter


End file.
